Spyro: A Case of Crooked Love
by Nicki Fowl
Summary: Cynder's been attacked, and there's only one anthro for the job.  Join John Kaiser from Crooked *will be submitted on fictionpress at some point* in a case with action, drama, and serious surprise, a case of crooked love.
1. Chapter 1

Spyro & Co in: A Case of Crooked Love

Starring: John Kaiser from Crooked

(Yet to be an actually published story)

I remember the day the case landed on my desk, and how strange that was. See it wasn't the case itself that was weird, as it involved investigating a possible homicide. No, no, what was strange about the case was the locale I was bein' shipped to, and the populace whose perpetrators I'd be throwing into the big-house.

Perhaps 'big-cage' fit better than 'big-house', because the kind of creatures I'd be working with, were dragons. I mean, honest to the big man dragons. I would be working with and trying to catch fire-breathing, scaly, flying dragons that could probably tear my tail off my ass without a second thought.

Now normally, a case like this is no big deal, but the locale is what made me nearly break my streak of never turning down a case. It was located in the realm of fiction. I bet a lot of you are like, "Ha! Fiction! You're scared of working in a fairytale little man?" You better believe its hells scarier than you'd think. I've heard stories, a lot o' people went workin' in that line a' law that never came back. The worst part of it is I don't doubt those stories for a single second. Plenty of people out there have sick and twisted imaginations, and I know 'because I used to be one of them, and since someone went to work on this, I have no doubt that it became true the moment they told it to any of their friends.

'Course, I could be off my rocker, but that's not here or there. What caught my eye and, more importantly, kept me on the case was, well, the case. As I sat in between to walking beach-balls most likely nicknamed Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass, inside the back of a van that traveled reality like it was just another optional freeway, I took another look at the case file.

I looked at the picture of the dragon on top, a purple and yellow sucker, and read his dossier.

According to his file, his name was Spyro, and he was purple dragon. Well, that much I could gather, and then I re-read that statement and caught a word I'd missed beforehand. Royal. This guy was called a _royal_ purple dragon. Now that was something worth sticking around to work with.

A smile had decorated my face. If this was true, then I might be in for some serious cash, maybe a Knighthood or something like that. Just the idea of all that money I could earn as a 'tip' for helping royalty made me almost drool onto my fur. I wiped my muzzle before continuing.

I started reading the background. Apparently, royal purple dragons appeared only once every ten years, and had multiple 'breath powers'. That absolutely made no sense to me. Was 'bad breath' a power, because if it was, Tweedle Dumbass here _definitely_ had it. It made me wonder just what kind of powers there were.

Moving on, I took a look at his history. He was one of only two eggs that had survived being destroyed by some asshole called Malefor. I made sure to remember that name. Anybody who can smash the eggs of unhatched children without batting an eye is _definitely_ one evil bastard, and someone I want to keep my eye on. I skipped a bit, and read about his current life. He lives with a dragoness named Cynder, and apparently had put that creep Malefor six feet underground, after which saving the entire set of dragon realms all on his own. This guy seemed to be after my own heart. I looked at his list of associated people.

Name: Ember

Gender: Female

Type: Fire

Affiliation: avid stalking (according to the dragon), romantic (according to the dragoness)

Note: It is advisable to follow the dragon's point of view on this subject, as aforementioned dragoness has a history of violated restraining orders and is currently on a probation pending a legal court hearing. Has been rumored to be connected to Malefor (see profile below), but yet to be proven.

/

Name: Flame

Gender: Male

Type: Fire

Affiliation: friend

Note: Seems to know both Spyro and Ember. Has a history of a short temper and is advisable to be wary around this particular dragon, as it is believed that he is affiliated with the dragoness Ember.

/

Victim

Name: Cynder

Gender: Female

Type: Black

Affiliation: Romantic

Note: This dragon was an ex-servant to Malefor (see profile below). Now seemingly on the side of the Guardians, she has been proven to have romantic attachments to Spyro. Reason that Spyro is head file instead of Cynder is both profile and relations to said deceased.

/

Name: Malefor

Deceased

Gender: Male

Type: Ex-royal purple

Affiliation: Sworn Enemy

Note: Despite death, sightings of this dragon have been abundant. Coupled with the locale beliefs, it is very important to assume that the 'spirit' of this dragon exists. Do not, repeat, do _**not**_ interact with. Dragon is considered to be public enemy number 1 and is _extremely dangerous_. Avoid all contact if possible.

After reading each of the profiles, I determined that if Malefor's 'ghost' was irrelevant to this case, then I'd eat my halo. Working with the Supernatural Criminal Task Force will do that to you. Working with those people long enough will teach you how to spot a demonic soul in a heartbeat, you have to if you want to survive the job. It comes naturally.

I felt the desire to light a soul cig, but I couldn't for two reasons. One: I was in the middle of an enclosed police vehicle, and trying to smoke without a window is just plain stupid. Two: Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass here had my arms pinned to my sides. So I spent a good hour and a half being turned into a wolf sandwich without anything to smoke. That was just perfect.

The Supernatural Criminal Task Force, better known as the Phantom Police, is a group of various immortals, exorcists, and specialized 'freaks' whose jobs prevent the afterlife perpetrator assholes from fucking up life for the rest of us. Of course, my department (which encompasses all of the Phantom Police), is the only one that actually gives a damn beyond their next paycheck. See, this particular case would never have fallen on my desk, supernatural or not, if it didn't reach outside the department that supervised the fictitious realm. They are the Imaginative Power Guard, but their public moniker is the Fantasy Force. Since every department has two different incomes, they try to get as much commission as possible, to add on to their weekly check, so it was no surprise when the head of the Guard effectively told me and my team just where we could stick our noses.

That being said, after a swift review of the case, and a meeting between that head and my boss, an accord was struck. My people would be allowed to investigate this 'sensitive issue', provided they took two members of the Guard with them. So of course the two biggest and most shortsighted cops on the Fantasy Force were assigned to my team. I would have argued, except I took a look at all the inspectors and realized that, somehow, I might have actually got the best of the rookies. Don't ask me how I know, but maybe it was because some of those rookies were still in diapers, and I don't mean as newbies.

So now there I was, sitting between to large walls of meat and blubber, trying to not die much less gag from their toxic gas, and hoping that this trip was worth being nearly turned in to a plate of lupine-on-rye, hold the badge.

/intro end/

'_I felt the thump of the craft landing, and almost kissed the ground, if it wasn't for the fact I felt like spewing on it instead of kissing it…'_

Inspector Kaiser bolted out of the craft as soon as the bay doors opened, and made a beeline for a bush, where he proceeded to heave a few times and inhale the fresh air, trying to get the horrid stench out of his well-honed nose.

"Hey inspector, what's the problem?" John spun to face Tweedle Dee, as he called him, rage engraved all over his face, "You two walking time bombs are the problem! The next time you feel the need to open the bay doors, _do it before you get in the damn ship!_"

You could practically see steam coming out of his ears and muzzle, eyes that could melt steel glaring over at the officer. "Okay, okay, I get, sheesh, you're so sensitive." "Do you not see the fur on my face, my snout, and my ears? I'M A FUCKING WOLF, MY NOSE IS _SUPPOSED_ TO BE SENSITIVE, JACKASS!"

"Inspector!"

'_I saw my favorite lady exit the craft, maintaining a graceful presence despite the look of disgust and sickness on her face. She was a beauty, and always knew just what to say to get my focus back on the job at hand. A snow fox by birth, I could smell the wolf in her blood, and it certainly showed. Her long trench tan trench coat accented her blue eyes and brown hair.'_

"INSPECTOR!"

He'd been looking at her longer than he'd realized, and quickly turned away in embarrassment. She was the only one that could get his face red like that. She descended the walkway and took a couple steps, keeping a stern face despite her pale outlook.

"Inspector Kaiser, if you have the focus to 'inspect' the goods then you have the focus to concentrate on this case."

That caused him to blush even more. '_She always knew how to get me completely off the walls embarrassed to.'_

John just stood there, up until Tweedle Dumbass decided to snap his fingers under John's nose.

Bad move.

John grabbed his fingers so fast no one even noticed until T. Dumbass tried to pull his hand back. John smiled, "Next time, you might not get your fingers back, got it?" The growl in his voice shut down any smart mouth comments. "Y-yes sir!"

John let go before stroking his red skunk stripe, "Right, what've we got?"

The lupine-vulpine mix, one Inspector Maria Laredo Inamorata, checked her clipboard, "According to this, the victim is a regular, well developed but immature female dragoness who goes by the name of Cynder. From the information we gathered, this might be a homicide."

At this point John had lit a cigarette, so he plucked it from his muzzle when he heard the magic words. "'Might' be a homicide? I thought that it was already determined that someone had deep-sixed the bitch?"

Maria smirked as she returned to her precious clipboard, lifting a sheet, "Humph, not according to this, it isn't. From what we gathered, at least visually, no wounds or bruises, not even a scratch was detected on her. From what we know, she died of natural causes." "I need more information, Ms. Inamorata. What do you mean by 'from what you know', and if this is all true, then why am I here?"

She smiled, thinking to herself '_That's why you're the best."_ Looking once more at her clipboard, she answered, "Well, during the night, someone heard a scream as they were walking past her location on the grounds, and they saw a shadowy figure flying from the scene." "That Spyro fella, right?" "Bull's-eye." "So just what kind of shadowy we talkin' about here, dark dragon shadowy or middle-of-the-night, can't see my snout in front of my face as I smack into a wall for the third time shadowy?"

"The latter." "Okay, on to the victim. What did you mean by, 'from what we know'?" "No autopsy has been performed yet on the victim's cadaver, as it is being guarded day and night." "Let me guess; Spyro is standing guard over his love's body so no one can perform the autopsy or even move the body, right?" "Spot on." "It still doesn't answer my question of why I'm here, for all we know, whoever flew off when she screamed could have been some poor sob who was just at the wrong place at the wrong time when she became the victim of heart failure." "This is a healthy dragoness with no history of medical problems we're talking about, but you suspect heart failure."

He grinned, "Just covering my bases, so, did the crime scene carry any traces of magic presence, possibly necromantic in origin?" "This place is _loaded_ with magic, wow; I thought you were supposed to be good." "Like I said, covering my bases. When the shit hits the fan, I wanna be sure I checked everything, especially after the last time I overlooked something." "Fair enough, but to be honest, it wasn't your fault." "That's not how the chief saw it." "The chief can fuck his own tail, and you can tell him I said that."

"This is off topic, but the question remains, did the scene leave any traces of necromancy, or necromantically associated works?" "If it did, no one would ever find it. This place is so permeated with magic that you could build a castle with a cross word and a crayon drawing, and that's even if the drawing is from kindergarten." "Yet reverse necromancy might be suspected?" "That's why you're here." "Anyone checked the eyes on the victim?" "No."

He swore, dropping his cigarette, which extinguished with a ghostly smoke trail, "Shit! I put together a report on this, god-dammit, and I even remembered to format it correctly and everything when I turned it into the chief. No one ever checks the eyes, _no one_!"

Maria sympathized, "Sorry, John, but you know how he is with this stuff, 'if it ain't high priority, don't bother me until it is'." "This _is_ high priority, this is no longer a simple homicide case; we're talking stealing someone's _soul_, for the love of God! This is a _**very**_ serious affair. Aw, fuck, today of all days, why does this have to come back to haunt me _now_."

Tweedle Dumbass interjected, breaking the moment, "Hey, excuse me, but what in the hell are you talking about?" John and Maria remembered the two officers from the Fantasy Force that came with them. "Sorry," John said as he bowed, "kind of a tense moment for us. Who are the two of you?" They stood parallel to each other, standing at attention, and Tweedle Dee spoke first, "I am Officer Morris." "I am Officer Carlos."

Maria shook their hands, "Pleased to meet you both." As she shook their hands, she gave John a big pleading look that said, '_Help me, these guys have hands like the inside of a rotten pumpkin_'.

Inspector Kaiser intervened, "Okay guys, I say we get the two cops out of the front, and then head down to the crime scene." Tweedle Dumb— I mean, Officer Morris spoke up, "Sorry Inspector, but we're in charge of this case." "Well then, what do you think we should do?"

"Well, I think that we should get the two cops out of the front, and then head down to the crime scene."

Maria held her head as John attempted, doing his best not to dropkick this rookie all the way back to the office, to speak rationally, "How old are you again?" "Thirteen, sir." "Okay, and how old is Officer Carlos?" "I'm eleven, sir."

A vein pulsed on John's temple, "Okay, how about this: Maria and I will lead the investigation, and you two _officers_ just standby in case we need you, and get take the figure who did this back to your department." "What are we supposed to do while we wait?" "I don't know, look for clues or something, just keep close in case we need some help."

"Okay!"

Maria sighed, "C'mon, let's go get the others."

She and John walked over to the driver's door of the ship, and John pounded on the door, "Maxwell! Carmine! I need you to get out! It's time to go to work!"

The figures that climbed out looked like supernaturals in their own right. A vampire got out first, with fangs, pale skin, the works. Then a guy with black horns like John's followed him.

The vampire spoke first, "Hey John, so what kind of backwater hellhole case are we working on today?"

John let Maria take care of that one, "Bad news, Carmine, we may have a case of reverse necromancy on our hands."

Carmine slapped his forehead, "Oh my— Are you shittin' me? This better be some kind of prank." The other man, most likely Maxwell, crossed his arms, "Not good, this is most certainly not good. We may have to call this in, y'know, get some backup on this." "Maxwell, buddy, I love you like a brother, but even you couldn't _possibly_ be stupid enough to try and explain this to the chief."

'_Officers Lucius Carmine and Fernando Maxwell, the Marx brothers of the force. Despite their tendency to goof off in the middle of an investigation, they bring both comedic relief and a fresh view to every case. They also have an impeccable record for catching any crook they set their eyes on. All in all, this was a crack team of employees, which struck an odd note with me. Why would the chief send an all-star team on a case that he didn't believe was worth more than a duo, one of them being yours truly?_'

John interrupted the argument, "Look, as much as I enjoy watching the two of you bitch like an old married couple, which you probably are, we need to head down to the crime scene and check on the severity of the situation. Something doesn't sit right in my gut about this case and I'm not talking about that tuna sandwich I had for lunch. So, grab your gear, we got work to do.

/Later, at the grounds where the supposed crime took place…/

'_I hadn't believed it until I saw it with my own eyes, but there they were, plain as day, real life dragons. Not that I hadn't worked with some dragons on the job before, and I don't just mean the chief, but there's a difference between meeting a tame employee in your work place and meeting a wild, possibly feral beast in nature. If that doesn't put a shake in your step, you gotta have balls of brass._'

John pulled out another cigarette from the gun-clip shaped custom box on his hip. He pulled a match out of a slot on the side of the box, lit up, and promptly extinguished it underfoot. He took a big puff, exhaling through his nose, as his keen eyes examined the scene before him.

Various bushes were scattered across the landscape around the area, and it did not go unnoticed by his eye that they were nearly impossible to see out of except for the four entrances to the crime scene. The area was a large circle, about twenty feet in diameter, and a few gardens popped up here and there. He made a mental note that the gardens had an unusual plant, which was not a plant at all, but crystal. Only three kinds of crystal were growing; red, blue, and green. Police tape covered the border on the outside of the bushes, so the only place it was scene was at the four entrances.

The body of a young black dragoness, most assuredly Cynder, lay in the center of the field. Her body matched the summary in the file to a 'T'. A purple dragon was close by, warding off his teammates so that her body was unable to be moved. He was obviously Spyro, and that was who John was interested in at the moment.

'_I could sympathize with the little warrior. Having those you love ripped out of your arms and beyond your help is something I'm familiar with. It wasn't easy to cope with, but then again, if they really were close to you, it shouldn't be that easy in the first place. As I took another drag from my soul cig, I looked back on my past. I surmised that the way that little purple pincushion dealt with his grief, denial, was infinitely better than how I managed to deal with mine._'

The dragon yelled again at Maria, "No! I will not let you touch her! I saw the knife in your hand, you're going to finish her off!" "Spyro, please calm down, we only want to help catch the criminal that kill—." "_NO!_ Stop lying! She isn't dead, she isn't, she, she…" he looked about to burst into tears for the third time that day.

John removed his cigarette to speak as he walked over to the young dragon, "Spyro that is enough. You are delusional, grieving, and attempting to channel said grief into both denial and aggressive behavior. Let me try something."

He reached for the body of Cynder, and Spyro growled, eyeing the sword strapped to John's back under his coat. Or rather, the hilt that poked out as he kneeled down to get close. "Don't worry, mister royal purple dragon, I won't be using 'this'." He padded the sword hilt, but Spyro wasn't soothed by his words. So John drew the blade, as Spyro got into an aggressive stance, preparing to fight, and he handed the hilt to Spyro, who was surprised by his actions. Shaking off the confusion, he slowly took the hilt in his mouth, and met gazes with John. He saw many things; lost innocence, anger, sorrow, but also trust, penitence, belief, and hope. He released the blade, so John set it down in front of him, an understanding between them, written on nothing but the windows to their souls.

John tightened his fingerless gloves before he proceeded to open Cynder's eye. He narrowed his vision until a green flash caught his eye, a darker green than her iris that came from her pupil, and resembled for the briefest moment a strange rune of some sort.

_That_ was what he'd been looking for.

He got up, sheathing his sword, and lit yet another cigarette from his seemingly endless supply on his hip. "Well, how is she doctor?" He couldn't help but chuckle lightly at that, which turned into a small coughing fit. "Kid, I ain't a doctor, and even if I was, I would still have to say that she has shuffled off this mortal coil. Sorry, kid."

Tears filled the edges of Spyro's eyes, and then John did something unexpected. He crouched down and put his hand on Spyro's left shoulder, "Listen, I know I said she's dead, but she might not stay that way permanently." "What are you talking about? Cynder is dead. She's dead, dead, dead, dead, DEAD. The only way I could see her again is I found her soul somewhere in the realms or I followed her."

He began to cry, and John swiftly looked at Maria, "Did you get that, Inspector Inamorata?" "Got it." Then he turned back to Spyro, "Listen, Spyro, buddy, suicide is not the way to go. Unless I miss my guess, and if I do I'll eat my halo, she might not have gone through true death." "Huh?"

He stood, blowing more smoke out his nose, "From the little flash I saw in her eyes, she is in a state referenced in my line of work as Corpus Immortalia, a kind of semi-death."

"Semi-death, what do you mean by semi-death?" "Okay, allow me to answer your question with a question of my own. How much do you know about necromancy, and working with souls?"

"Not much, isn't necromancy raising the dead from the grave?" John grinned, "Yes, although to be precise, the art of necromancy is the manipulation of spirits through connections to their former life." "So, is that why necromancy uses stuff that was close to the person?" He raised a finger in triumph, "_Yes_, but not just belongings. A necromancer can use anything, especially if they have the skill, or any_one_ that has connections to the target soul."

He stood up straight, drawing a quick drag from his cigarette before exhaling it through his nose, "Now, necromancy occurs in three simple stages." He held up three fingers to emphasize this point, "First, the target soul is pulled forth from the spirit world or wherever the spirits of the dead move on to after they die. I can be the spirit world, heaven, hell, or just some random altar nearby. Next, the body the target soul will inhabit is animated, so that it can be useable during the third and final stage. The final stage is binding the target soul to the form, in a way so that they fit, so that the target soul can interact with the physical world. These three stages form the process that is the necromantic art."

He bent down to Spyro's level as he gestured to Cynder, "However, similar to the case of your girlfriend here, there is a different application of necromancy, of which she might very well be a victim. This process is unimaginatively called reverse necromancy. The name, however, is apt, since that is exactly what it entails. Reverse necromancy takes the normal process and completely turns it backwards, so that instead of binding a soul into a dead body, you expel a soul out of a living one instead."

John took another drag from is cigarette, "Often, this particular process entails great, if not catastrophic risk, which is why it's not practiced, or more appropriately, not a well known application of mythical power."  
>"Why is that?"<br>"The answer is simple, if crucial to understand; if the public had access to this kind of power, imagine what it would entail. You could kidnap the soul of your ex-partner, or your traitorous friend, or of the ruling party, or pretty much anyone provided you had the smallest _scrap_ of memorabilia connected to them. That kind of power is something absolutely no one should be able to use just on the fly. Granted it's horrendous what I just described to you, but there are advantages to this."  
>"What kind of advantages?"<br>"Kinds like these."

Without even a hint of warning, John took his blade and swiftly drew a long shallow cut on Cynder's arm, which was now grabbed by the hand by him. In one fluid movement, the sword sailed through the air, sliced into her limp arm without a sound, and retreated to it's sheathe. Before Spyro could even object, John pinched the ends of the wound together, which instantly mended, as if his sword had never bit into her arm.

Spyro was shocked. He'd watched, and had been about to assault John for stabbing him in the back, when he undid the wound by simply holding it closed. Nothing normal ever healed _that_ fast. Despite this, he looked daggers and Inspector Kaiser, who sheepishly grinned as if he believed he deserved it. "I'm sorry Spyro, but if I'd given you any warning you would have either rejected it outright or proceeded to tear my body to shreds, which would have forced my fellow Inspector there to in turn nail _you_ with something that would probably not be altogether pleasant."

He gestured to Inspector Maria with a nod, and Spyro looked, suddenly glad he hadn't hit John. Maria had a particularly nasty looking gun aimed at him, with three spiky diodes on the back end over the handle. They each glowed a menacing blue, and the rifle-like gun clearly did NOT look friendly inside the barrel.

'_Ahhh, the ever lovely Storm Finger, my how I missed it. A specially modified tazer designed to generate and then broadcast an electric charge in a specific controlled direction. To think, this device was inspired by a series of video games._'

He motioned for Maria to put the gin down and she reluctantly obliged, removing the Storm Finger from Spyro's face but keeping her eyes fixed on him should he try anything.

Spyro looked at John, "Thanks for the warning."  
>"No problem."<p>

John took another look at Cynder's body, and suddenly noticed something that gleamed on her forepaw. He took another look at Spyro and saw the same thing on his, in the exact same place. Righteous anger filled his mind, but he took a deep puff from the cigarette to drive it off. He started to direct the group, "Alright, we need to do a perimeter check, standard procedure, Maxwell and Carmine that is your job. Maria, order some extraction and inspection tools from headquarters. We're not going to bother with the autopsy, wouldn't reveal anything anyway." A smile, or at least a less depressed frown, lit up on Spyro's face.

Of course, Officers Morris and Carlos had to intervene. "Sir, I'm afraid I have to override your orders. Carlos and I are in charge of this case and _we_ will be determining what is necessary."

John sighed, "Alright then, wish you hadn't made me do this." He whipped out a special badge he kept in his coat, his _other_ badge that he received from the chief. He presented it to the two officers, "As of right now, I, Inspector Jonathan Leonardo Kaiser, of the Supernatural Criminal Task Force, do hereby deem this case outside the authority of your department. I therefore claim full responsibility for this case, relieve Officers Carlos and Morris of the Imagination Power Guard of their duty in this issue, and politely ask them to _fuck off_ and let me do my job. You can tell your chief I said that to."

Officer Morris wasn't impressed, "You have no right, wolf-boy." A vein once more pulsed on his temple, "I have every right to kid. This case is now under the jurisdiction of the Phantom Police, so you can run on home to your chief and tell him that he can't do _shit_ about it, and he knows it to." He turned to Maria, "Go get Carmine and tell him to escort these two _men_ back to the office, we have work to do."

She smiled, "Gladly, John." She walked off to get Officer Carmine, leaving John on babysit duty with the relieved officers. Officer Carlos went up to him, "Chief Morison is gonna get you for this, just you wait." John just smiled, towering over the employee of the Fantasy Force, "You keep telling yourself that, cupcake. If Morison tries anything, I will personally be the first one to stick whatever it is right back up his ass. As for you, you have a lot to learn about law in this way of life kid." He bent down, surprising Carlos, and ruffled his hair, "My advice, when you see exactly the difference in how my department works compared to everyone else, you might see just how little your boss cares for anything except his precious commission and weekly check."

He stood up, seeing that Maria got Carmine, "Carmine, I want you to take Carlos and Morris back to the base. Oh, and take it easy on them, they are just kids."

Carmine guided the duo back to the ship, and John shooed Maria off somewhere so he and Spyro could have a little heart-to-heart chat.

He got down to Spyro's level, "So, taking it well I presume."  
>"I wish, it's just so hard to accept this."<br>"Look at the bright side. She isn't truly dead, so getting her back shouldn't be too much of a problem."  
>"How can you be so sure?"<br>"Bud, I've dealt with werewolves, vampires, succubae, ghosts, warlocks, demons, and multiple accounts of feigned death like this, so when I say I can bring her back, I can bring her back."  
>"But, how do you feel so <em>sure<em> you can catch whoever did this? What if you can't and she suffers again?"  
>"Listen, I never, do you hear me, <em>never<em> let someone get away. I never stop working, I turn over every stone, three times or three thousand times, to make absolutely sure I catch that criminal."  
>"When you do, then, hand them over to me, because <em>they must PAY<em>."

He stood, "You engaged to her?"  
>"Err, what do you mean?"<br>"I saw the ring on her claw, and I can see the one on yours again."

Spyro quickly tried to hide his paw, until he realized that by doing so he confirmed John's suspicions. "Okay, yes. I didn't want anyone to know in case it put either me or Cynder in danger. She and I were supposed to get together permanently in about three days' time."  
>"Damn, that's just cruel."<br>"That's why I want whoever did this. I want to personally pull the truth out of their mouth before I _kill_ them."

His aggressive attitude was concerning, "I'm afraid that when the time comes, you may not want to."  
>"What the hell are you talking about? My fiancée was <em>attacked<em>, of course I would."  
>"Spyro, if there's one thing I've learned in all my time as an Inspector for the Phantom Police, it's that no one is completely guilty."<br>"Why am I listening to you, anyway, it's not like you've gone through something like this before."  
>"Kid, that's where you're wrong, I know perfectly well what it's like to lose someone close to you. I lost several people close to me."<br>"How close?"  
>"How about my entire family from my two children to my parents?"<p>

Spyro's jaw dropped, as did Maria's as she listened from behind a bush. John looked somber, "Spyro, I'm going to tell you a story. This story is how I became an Inspector, how my entire family was murdered as I was forced to watch, and how I managed to live through it. It starts a good while back, probably well before you were born."

"It starts with a friend of mine."

**And, that's a wrap! So, what did you all think of the first chappie? I know it's long, but not all of them will be twenty pages in length. I wanted to describe the situation and set up a good point to plan the next chapter, or perhaps the next few I should say. The next chapter is called Death's a bitch, part one on the series involving John's past, which will be title Requiem of the Broken. Hope it was enjoyable. Look me up if you want to try some of my other work, and don't forget to Read, Review, and Relay!**


	2. Requiem of the Broken: Part 1

Chapter 2: Death's a Bitch Part 1 of Requiem of the Broken

John took a long drag from his cigarette, his mind accessing his old memories, and he started to speak when he got cut off by Spyro, "Wait, I think that you should do this somewhere else. I have the perfect place, follow me."

John, with no clue what the hell was going on, followed silently, like a wraith in the night. The sun still showed brightly overhead, and Spyro lead him into a temple-like building well within the boundaries of the city. Maria, thinking quickly, relayed some instructions to Carmine once he returned and chased after them, trying not to get caught.

Spyro lead him to a strange place indeed. A pool. "Okay, so you wanted me to take a bath before I told you my story? Do I honestly smell that bad?"

Spyro threw John a look of horror at the thought. A look of both horror and disgust. John held up his hands, "Alright, alright, sorry. So, what exactly is this pool for, if not for bathing? I suppose it involves my story, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

Spyro nodded, "Actually, yes. This pool is what we call the Pool of Visions, it can show us the past, or the future."  
>"I suppose it only shows the future in bits and pieces, whereas the past is fully viewable, correct?"<br>"Spot on. You sure you haven't been here before?"  
>"Positive, bud, now what's this all about?"<p>

Spyro swallowed before answering, clearing his throat of any, _disruptive,_ debris. "Well, I figured that if you were going to tell a story about your past, why not do it so we can watch for ourselves?"  
>"Nice plan, but don't refer to yourself in plural."<p>

"What're you—" Spyro cut himself off when he noticed that Maria, who he'd included in the 'us', was making slitting motions with her finger and apparently trying to pierce Spyro with her gaze. "Um, right, so as you were saying."

John took a drag from a cigarette, bolstering his nerves before he continued. He dove deep into his mind, stirring the contents, and feeling the emotions of back then rising within him, all vying for expression on his stone hard face. As he searched his mind, the pool before him swirled and shifted, changing into what his mind was revealing from within the vaults of the subconscious. Maria came out from behind a pillar and moved over to the Pool of Visions, watching as it slowly formed what John himself was unable to remember clearly. John noticed none of this, as he soon realized that for the first time in years, he could remember what happened with clarity once again…

-5 years ago-

A red haired, non-furry, Caucasian John walked out of the bar with his friends. 'Walked out' was a rough assumption of 'tripping over themselves drunk as hell'. His buddies were a blonde pale man named Mitch, a brown haired tan dude named Alex, and the only one of them not drunk, a blue haired green-eyed man by the name of Ralf. The four of them had just finished a long night of fun and foolishness. Ralf, being the responsible one of the group, scolded them, as usual.

"Dammit, John, why'd you have to go and piss of the manager of the bar, I swear, you can't keep your foot out of your mouth for more than an hour." "Aw, pipe down, nurse maid, that guy got what was coming to him." Then John yelled over his shoulder, "That's what you get for trying to cut me off, and you mother can stick a siphoning hose right up her—" John cut himself off as he ducked under a size 32 boot that whizzed through the air. Unfortunately, his friend Mitch caught it with his face when he turned back around to talk to him.

Oops.

"Ow! Aw, man, what the hell, John?" "Sorry, Mitch, guess you shouldn't have tried to open your mouth." Suddenly, he seemed to sober up, and become grim, "Hey, guys, I got somewhere to be. I'll, uh, I'll catch you later." He sprinted off, completely and utterly _not_ drunk off his ass, and John seemed to notice a frightened air around him. However, being as he was so stoned, he brushed it off.

Alex, the silent one of the group, just drifted off and disappeared. None of them were worried, and frankly, considering the kind of trouble he managed to stir up for being the strong silent type, it was a good thing that he decided not to let them in on whatever the hell he was going off to do. As he vanished, John looked at the watch on his wrist. "Aw, shit, Candy's going to kill me when I get home. Well, I better get going. Catch you later Ralf!"  
>"Wait; how the hell are you gonna get home? You're to fucked up to drive, and I sure as hell am <em>not<em> going to take you home after the flak I caught from Candice last time."  
>"Who the hell said I'm driving? I'm walking home! I gotta sober up before I get there, otherwise I will <em>really<em> get an earful."  
>"Well, then, I'll see you same time next week!"<p>

John waved as he stumbled down the street, noticeably less so than earlier. As he managed to clear the alcohol from his mind, his walk stabilized and he started to whistle a tune. It was nothing special, but the tune seemed familiar. It was only much later when he would realize that the tune he was humming was a song called 'Requiem of the Broken'. By then, the irony would hit him in the gut like a sharp steel fist.

However, that is then and this is now. As John walked home, he noticed a strange black van parked in front of his apartment. He was not one to believe in coincidence or accident, so he was alert as he opened the door. He called out, "Candice, kids, I'm home!"

No response from anywhere. "Candice, honey, are you there?" He took a few careful steps into the house. "Candice, Alan, Genevieve, where are you?"

He never even noticed the man in ninja uniform over the threshold as he was taken down from behind. A cloth was slipped over his mouth, and he recognized the chloroform. Thinking quickly, he jammed his elbow into the attacker's stomach and flipped him over his back. He took a quick fight stance, and felt a sting in his neck. As he swatted the spot, he suddenly felt very tired, and proceeded to fall over. In his last moments of consciousness, he saw another man in the same clothing come from the side entrance to the kitchen. He thought to himself as the dregs of the knockout cocktail in the kerchief took effect, '_There were two of them, dumbass!_'

Then he knew no more.

…

When he woke up, he was strapped to a wooden cross tied to a chair, his eyes pointed at a group of about twenty different people, thirteen of which swarmed around the other seven with strange contraptions. He tried to shake his head to loosen the grip of the chloroform on him, but he found that his head couldn't move. He looked at the seven and recognized them, the knockout drugs effects now gone from his mind, "Candice, Jamie, Lauren, mom, dad, bro, sis, what are all of you doing here? What's going on?"

Then he noticed the glass, and one of the thirteen walked through a door and kneeled down by him, "Ah, you're awake, good, we could not possibly do this while you were unconscious, the 'effects' of what is to be done here would not have as much of a hold on you experienced secondhand."  
>"What the fuck are you—"<p>

POW!

Since he couldn't move his head, the slap hurt even more. The figure withdrew his hand, "Do not swear at me, at least not yet. You will soon have reason to do so soon enough." He decided not to speak in case he said something else to get hurt, instead, he looked beyond the glass, focusing on what was before him. One of the men came over and talked to who was undoubtedly the leader of the group. "Sir Dante—"

He was smacked, "Buffoon! Do not use names here." '_Too late, asshole,_' John thought to himself as he noticed the equipment they were bringing out. Torture equipment. He silently fumed as Dante spoke, "Well, the damage has already been done, and I suppose he will have nothing left to hunt us down with once this is over. Pietro, get ready to begin. I want to give him a few minutes to be, as some would say, 'educated' in the reason he is here."

Dante got into his face, "You see the equipment out there? What is about to happen to them with that equipment, and this is as the kids say 'the kicker', is _entirely upon your head_! You brought this down upon them. No one rats on my organization and does not suffer for it."

John was confused, "What the f— I mean, what are you talking about, I don't even know what organization this—"

POW! Another slap, this one with some anger behind it, "Do not lie to my face, Jonathan, you told the police about our organization, one of your 'friends', Mitch, was an agent for our group, and he told us who was the one spilling our secret to the officials. He was paid handsomely, with a golden bullet to the temple. It was obvious that he had fudged some of his facts, but he finally turned someone out to me. He was too stupid to live in the first place. So now, you get to watch as we kill all of your _familia_, right before your eyes, and their deaths. Will. Be. _Frightening_.

John's eyes widened as all this new information was slowly but surely brought to his attention. He opened his mouth to curse, and thought better of it for once.

_It took only a second, even though I wasn't yet trained for this, to realize that swearing wasn't the way to go. Call it a feeling if you will._

The man Dante took notice of this, "Ah, I see you've learned to hold the foul language from passing your tongue. Not that it will do you any good. I suppose this is fitting. You finally learn civility when it will be torn from you so soon, hmph, ironic."  
>"Mister Dante-"<br>"Oh, its Mister Dante, now, is it?"  
>"Please listen to me. My friend Mitch was a coward, everyone knows it. He didn't know any traitors. He didn't know what you'd do to them. He gave you my name thinking I'd just have the crap beaten out of me by some hired thugs and that would be the end of it. He was lying."<p>

POW!

This time the blow drew blood. Dante had used brass knuckles this time, and it _hurt_. John cried in pain.

Dante, oblivious to John's wails, shook somewhat in anger. "This is inexcusable. You continue to lie to my face regardless of how serious the danger is. I have had more than enough of your insolence. I think that the time has now come to bring down our full wrath upon you, through your family. However," he paused a moment in thought before continuing, "Perhaps your words have some truth to them after all. Regardless, even if you were innocent before, there must be incentive to ensure that you do not turn us into the police."  
>"How in hell could I do that? I don't even know who you people are!"<p>

Dante smiled, "We are the Republic of Dark Heaven, and, thanks to your own question, now we do indeed have reason to continue. I should thank you."

He smiled, which sent John into a rage, "YOU SADISTIC, SNAKE-TONGUED BASTARD!" Dante took hold of John's chin, tut-tut ting him like a parent does a child who did wrong, "Oh no, you're the bastard here. You just brought this on yourself and your family. If only you had kept your mouth shut, then this might have been avoided."

"Bullshit." But in his mind, John thought differently.

_I couldn't help but think that maybe that asshole Dante was right. I had given him ample reason to continue with his 'punishment' of me. Was I really to blame? Could it all have been avoided?_

John's doubt showed in his downcast gaze, despite his inability to move his head very far. "Ah, it seems you finally understand. Well, now that you've accepted the truth, it is time to begin."

With that, Dante snapped his fingers.

And the violent torturous deaths of everyone in his family began.

The twelve men beyond the glass did their worst, using a different method to do horrendous and cruel violence upon each of their unfortunate victims. Again and again they murdered John's family, and he screamed and swore, damning each and every one of those 'mother-fucking bellicose sons of Satan', and again and again they continued, deaf to his pleas and oaths, actually seeming to _enjoy_ some of this frightening torture. John's eyes were glued to the 'stage' as again and again he was proven powerless to defend the only people close to him. He wanted to turn away, to stop watching and just release his grief and anger.

But he couldn't. He couldn't because he was strapped to a cross and secured tightly into the chair, and his head was roped to the top of the cross so he couldn't look away. He couldn't even close his eyes, the sheer terror and reality of what was happening keeping them open, allowing him to see more, and building an endless loop that built more and more pain upon itself.

He wanted to cry, to scream, to shout vile oaths and pray that God would answer and strike these bastards down in holy anger. But his voice was all screamed out, his eyes were as dry as the desert, and his breathing was ragged and irregular. All that was left to him were his eyes, and they repeatedly betrayed him, by showing him the horror that would be burned into his mind and haunt his thoughts and warp his personality until all that was left was a husk of nothingness.

_The thing I couldn't understand was 'why'. Why, if God loved us, that He allowed things like this to happen in the world. Why, if God couldn't stand this, why did it happen in the first place? Why do people like this exist if life is a gift? Why, why, why, why, WHY?_

His will broken, he simply hung limp in his makeshift harness, no longer wanting to live, no will left to continue in an existence where all he cared for was so brutally ripped from his grasp. And then a small personal miracle happened that he didn't even notice.

Once more, he cried, he cried when he had no more tears. Yet there they were, their salty streams leaving marks on his face and sliding on their old journey across his features.

He spoke, his voice raspy and hoarse, "Please, please, no more. Please just stop."

Dante laughed it off, "Stop, but why? Why, the grand finale is about to begin."

John's eyes refocused, his vision rheumy, only until he saw who it was. It was his father. He was hung from a cross and positioned over a vat of acid. Spikes were driven into his hands and feet, and a cross of thorns on his head, crucifixion, for the modern world.

"No, please no! Don't do this!"  
>"It's already done."<p>

John's eyes were glued to the scene before him, so he didn't notice when Dante nodded. Hi father was then slowly dropped into the acid. This time, the glass between them was dropped, and John heard his every scream. Dante just laughed, "Yes, watch as your father suffers in your stead! Relish in the unfairness of it! And let this be burned into your mind whenever you look back upon this moment in fear. This is but the beginning!"

John was deaf as he listened. He watched and listened as his father sank into the acid. Then, when his father's body was almost completely submerged, he stopped screaming to say one thing. "John, this-"

And then all but his head was submerged. His words were lost to time, and when they plucked his head from the former cross and used it for target practice, Dante took a chair and sat in front John, raising the glass back into its former position.

"Listen to what I have to say. This is barely a scrap of our potential. So if you are smart, you'll listen and keep this quiet."  
>"Why? There's nothing left for you to take from me."<p>

Dante smiled and moved closer, "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, you see," he whispered into Johns ear now, leaning close, "you can always take something away."

And with that, John felt a sharp shock to his stomach and went out cold…

He woke up in a police office on a cot, his head was aching, his eyes were sore, his throat was dry, and his heart had been beaten and danced on by a frat party. He got up and took his coat, leaving.

An officer stopped him, "Whoa, where do you think your going?"  
>"Leave me alone. I'm getting some beer."<p>

The officer, a girl with black hair and brown eyes, didn't move, "I don't think so. You're staying right here until we can sort this mess out."

John lost it, "If you had any idea of what I just went through, you'd be curled in a corner bawling your fucking eyes out! Just get out of my way!"

Most of the time, a cop would respond to that by pulling your arms behind your back, probably out of their sockets, and reading you your rights. But this cop had taken a course in negotiation, and it only took a glance to see what John had been through in the last 24 hours. She let her arms down and called to some room in the back, "I'm taking this guy to Hooter's!"  
>"The Chief will have you badge!"<br>"He can sit on a dildo for all I care! And you can tell him I said that!"

She turned to John, "Sorry about that, let's go get you that drink.

_I didn't know it at the time, but the cop taking me to Hooter's would be an important part of my life, well, her and the drink too._

**Another cliffy! Sorry for the super-long update time, I hope that this is worth it. Tootles!**


End file.
